Swimming in the Smoke
by Wynter Spite
Summary: Dean and Sam were tracking a monster when it did something to them. They were sent back to a time before the fire that took their mother. The only problem with this is that they were sent back to their own bodies, too. A four-year-old and a baby five months old with the minds of grown men. Now they have to figure out how to get back to their own time before John and Mary notice.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow, I've been doing way too many fanfics lately. But how can I keep them to myself? Wait, that would be impossible anyway. There's no way to keep a story to yourself when your sister practically salivates at the thought of something new to read.**

**Anyway, this story happens somewhere in the fifth season. Don't ask me exactly when, it's not like I remember any of the episodes anyway. Just . . . use your imagination. Unless you don't have one. If you don't, you might want to look on Ebay or another popular site for a new one. If you've lost it somewhere, I recommend you look under your couch or in the refrigerator as soon as possible. Any longer than that, and it could be fatal.**

**Tell me if I've made any mistakes, 'kay? I'm serious. Tell me. I want to fix it. I NEED to fix it. **

**Misspellings or wrong words will require either immediate surgery for a new pair of hands or boiling my thumbs in a pot of Pizza Hut's finest.**

**Thank you.**

* * *

"Sam!" Dean shouted. "What is it?"

"I don't know, Dean," Sam shouted back. "It could be nearly anything. We can't face it if we don't know what kind of monster it is, either, so don't you dare try it! I know that look, Dean! Just run!"

"You're no fun, Sammy," his brother complained, his voice slightly out of breath as they dashed through the dark forest.

It should've been just another job. Four people disappearing in little more than a week. It had seemed like something they'd get done as easily as anything else. They'd asked around, impersonated FBI agents, asked the grieving families, and gotten wind of a few leads that lead them to an abandoned factory in the middle of a shadowy forest.

They should've known that nothing's ever simple or easy when Winchesters get involved.

Dean leapt over a fallen tree and pulled two guns out of . . . nowhere, as far as Sam could see. He tossed one to his brother. "Get ready, Sam, we're gonna have to face it sometime."

They stopped running suddenly, turning to stand at each others' backs. The forest was silent for several moments, the only sounds heard the rustling of the wind in the trees and the crickets chirping.

After a few minutes, Dean flicked a glanced behind his back at Sam. "Think it went somewhere else?"

"Could be," Sam admitted. "But I don't want to deal with the consequences if we're wrong."

So they stood there in the stillness for a while longer before Dean finally relaxed his stance and Sam turned around. "Great. It's escaped."

Dean shrugged. "So we'll look for it, and if we don't find it, we'll come back later."

"What if it takes more people before we catch it, Dean?"

His brother sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I guess we'll just have to get it before then."

"Yeah."

They stood there, quiet for a few seconds. Then Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out in the morning. What do you say we get back to the motel, get some beer and watch bad late night TV?"

Sam smiled slightly. "Sounds good, Dean."

But they never even made it to the Impala before they were attacked from behind.

* * *

Dean blinked open his eyes, squinting against the darkness. He pushed himself up, the dizziness only lasting seconds before fading away. He rubbed his head and groaned.

What happened last night? He really hoped they hadn't gone on a bender. His head seriously wasn't liking him right then. He didn't remember embarrassing himself, but alcohol could do that to you. Who knows what he'd done while under the influence?

With his luck, he'd probably sang a few songs on top of a table, stumbled home, then latched onto Sam and poured out all his troubles to his emotional (and probably also intoxicated) little brother, who either dumped him some place or cried with him like two sisters who's boyfriends just broke up with them.

Oh, God, no.

He got up, looked down, and immediately forgot about his headache.

"What the _hell_?"

He was a kid. Why was he a kid?

Then he remembered the case, and cursed colorfully. The thing must've gotten he and Sam while they were walking back to Baby.

It had better not have scratched her up.

Wait, Sam. Where was Sam? Was he a kid, too? He really hoped not. One kid was trouble enough, but two?

Damn, he had to find his brother.

He was already to the door before he paused. He recognized this room. It was the room he'd had before his mother was killed by Azazel.

He was all of four years old, then. That would mean Sam was either five or six months old. Great.

But he couldn't worry about this now. His brother could be in trouble, hurt, or worse.

So he reached up and opened the door, leaving the room in search of Sammy.

The first place he looked was the nursery. He looked over the top of the crib, and lo and behold, there was his baby brother, sleeping like a . . . rock.

He really hoped Sammy wasn't as old, mentally, as he looked. He poked his brother in the arm. "Sammy. Wake up and remember me."

Sam opened his eyes, gazing up into Dean's young face. His little brother blinked big hazel eyes up at him, his expression soft in that way all small children seemed to have, and he finally spoke. Baby's first words.

"_What the hell?_"

Dean laughed in relief. "Surprise, Sammy."

"Dean, what's going on?" his brother spluttered. Except it came out as gibberish that, somehow, his brother could understand.

Dean thought it must a big brother thing.

"Well, aren't you cute, Sammy," he said, amused.

"Dean, why are you a child and why are you so big?"

"Look at yourself, Sam. You'll understand in a minute."

When Sam saw himself, he hissed out a breath. "It got us, didn't it."

"'Fraid so, Sammy."

"Was it a witch?"

Dean frowned. "Not sure. Probably. What else could de-age us and send us back to this house?"

"Something powerful. An Angel, maybe." Sammy pushed himself up to his knees. "This complicates things."

Dean snorted. "That's an understatement. What are we gonna do if people find us here? How will we explain how we got in? You're only at least five months old, Sammy. They'll think someone either left us or we hid here for some reason. It's not like we can tell them the truth."

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah, you're right." He looked up at Dean. "We could call Bobby."

"Yeah, and how will we do that when we can't even reach the phones, which are probably all disconnected anyway?"

"I don't know, Dean, but we have to figure out something."

They both paused as they heard a footsteps. They were getting closer, and they didn't have any weapons to stop whatever it was.

The door was pushed open, and . . .

"Sammy? What's going on, baby?"

Dean forgot to breathe. It couldn't be, but it was her voice and this house and Sammy and how could it be possible?

He turned around, and saw his mother standing in the doorway.

"Mom?" he breathed.

Mary Winchester saw him standing there, and came closer. "Dean? What are you doing out of bed, honey?"

"I-I was checking on Sammy," he stammered.

"Sammy?" Her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?"

"No, no," Dean assured her. "He's fine. He's . . . I just wanted to see him."

She smiled at him, the same smile he remembered from before the fire, and knelt down in front of him. "Why don't we get you back to bed, then?" She reached out to take his hand. He let her, but resisted when she tried to pull him away from the crib. She looked surprised. "Dean?"

He shifted on his feet. "Where's Dad?"

She smiled crookedly. "Dad, is it? Are you too old to call him Daddy now?" she teased.

He smiled back uncertainly. "Yeah, no, but . . . Dad?"

"He's still sleeping," she told him, her tone lovingly exasperated. "Wouldn't budge an inch when I shook him." She looked down at him, her eyes soft. "Are you ready to go back to bed yet, baby?"

"Just let me talk to Sammy for a moment, okay?" Dean said. "I want to . . . tell him goodnight."

"Of course you can, Dean," Mary said, another small smile gracing her lovely face. "I'll just stand over there, shall I? Give you privacy," she added delicately. There was playful affection in her blue eyes as she stood back to stand beside the door.

Dean turned back to Sam, who looked up at him with uncertainty in his hazel eyes. "Dean . . . was that . . . ?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing away. "It was Mom."

"But how . . . ?"

"I don't know, Sammy."

There was a moment of silence.

"She sounds beautiful," Sam admitted quietly.

"She is." Dean paused. "Dad's still alive. Should we . . . ?"

"We'll figure this out," Sam said firmly. "For now, go with Mom."

"Sam," his brother began.

"I'll be fine, Dean," Sam interrupted. "Trust me. I'll yell if I'm not."

Dean looked back at Mary. "Okay. But I'm coming to get you the second I wake up."

"I'll be here," Sammy said firmly. "Now go. Mom's waiting."

Dean cast him one last glance before walking over to Mary, letting her take his hand and lead him back to his bedroom.

Just before she left the room, she whispered to him, "Angels are watching over you, Dean."

He was haunted by nightmares for the rest of the night.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight.

It took one a moment before every came rushing back, and he jumped out of the bed to run out of the room and crash into one John Winchester.

He father steadied him with a hand gentler than he remembered. "Whoa, slow down, buddy. Where are you running off to this early in the morning?"

"Dean."

He looked up and saw Sammy being held by John, and immediately held out his arms.

John shifted Sam on his shoulder, looking perplexed. "Do you want a hug?"

"Sammy," Dean instantly said.

"You want to hold Sammy?"

Dean nodded, his arms still held out.

"Well, alright. But don't drop him," John cautioned before carefully placing his little brother in his arms.

"I'd never let Sammy fall," Dean told him. John looked at him strangely. The words sounded strangely like a promise long held, but not to him. He shook his head and decided it was just his imagination. "Let's go see Mom," he said to his son, smiling down at him in a way he'd never done after Mary died. "She's making pancakes for breakfast."

Dean shifted Sammy in his arms. He'd seemed to stop complaining the moment John gave him over to his big brother. John wondered about that, but Dean looked so . . . comfortable, holding Sammy. As if he'd done it many times before. It gave John pause, and at the same time made him want to hold his son, because Dean was already so much the big brother it made him smile to imagine what it'd be like in a few years.

"He kept talking like I was as young as I look, Dean," Sam said as they walked into the kitchen. He sounded slightly disturbed by the fact. "It was so awkward."

Dean snorted. "Only for you, Sam. You'll have to remember that."

John glanced down at him, and smiled slightly. "You can understand what he's saying, Dean?"

Dean looked at him. "Yeah. He thought it was really awkward the way you kept talking to him like he's five months old."

John chuckled, and Dean smirked as he told the complete truth. Sam slapped a small hand against his shoulder. "Dean," he protested.

His brother glanced at him. "Calm down, Sammy. I'm just telling the truth."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. It's not like anyone will believe you, anyway."

Dean patted him on the back gently. "See? You're thinking my way already."

They sat at the table as Mary put pancakes on plates and placed them in front of John and Dean. She picked up Sam from Dean's arms and settled him in a kid's chair before putting syrup in the middle of the table and getting some pancakes for herself. She slid into a chair and looked up to smile at her boys. "Good morning."

Dean nodded. "Morning, M-mom." He stumbled over the word, glancing at Sammy, and got a look back that held years of reassurance.

"I'm Mom now?" Mary asked, smiling.

"Why stop just because we went back in time?" Dean mumbled.

Mary gave him a puzzled glance. "What was that, Dean?"

He snapped out of it, sitting up. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" She was looking at him with concern now.

"I'm sure," he said, smiling at her because she was his mother even if she wasn't, and you didn't worry your mother for a reason you couldn't tell her.

"They don't seem to understand me no matter what I say, Dean," Sam said.

Dean looked up at him. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. It'll probably even come in handy."

Mary glanced between them curiously.

John smiled. "It seems Dean understands what Sammy's trying to say now."

Her smile was brighter than her husband's, more painfully familiar to Dean than his own father's. Of course, there hadn't been a lot to smile about after she'd died. For Dean, Sam. But especially for John. He'd collapsed in on himself after she was gone. He'd put himself back together, but he couldn't heal the cracks created by her death.

Mary looked at Dean expectantly. "What's he saying?"

"He told me that you don't seem to understand anything he says," he replied.

She laughed. It was beautiful. "I can imagine how that would be a problem."

Dean chuckled. It was a sound that gave John and Mary pause. Not many children laughed like that, and they'd never heard it from Dean before. "You have no idea."

Mary smiled as she got up to give Sammy his breakfast, sitting down again and leaning over to hold a spoon of . . . something to Sam's mouth. Dean didn't even want to know what it was.

"Dean, she's trying to feed me what looks to be the insides of a small dog," Sam said, a bit of panic in his voice.

This time Dean barely stopped himself from choking on a pancake as he laughed loudly.

"It's not funny, Dean," Sammy hissed as he tried to get away from the spoon that was currently terrorizing him.

"Yes, it is," he chuckled. "You can't tell me you wouldn't be laughing, too, if our places were reversed."

"No," Sam admitted, holding a hand in front of his mouth. "I can't."

John and Mary paused, watching the interplay between the two. It was slightly unsettling, the way Dean really seemed to understand his little brother.

"It can't be that bad, Sammy," he said without batting an eyelash at the lie.

Sam shot him a Look. "Yes, it can, Dean. Yes, it can."

"So is there anywhere you want to go today, Dean?" John asked. "The park, maybe?"

At that moment, a thought occurred to Sammy. "Dean, the Roadhouse."

Dean looked at him, startled. He hesitated. "The Roadhouse?"

"Dean," Sam urged, "if Mom and Dad are alive, then what about . . ."

Dean stared at him, having the same realization as Sam had just seconds before. "Sammy, you're a genius."

"I know," he said without vanity or pride.

"The Roadhouse?" John asked, perplexed.

Dean glanced at him. "Yeah, Dad."

"'Dad'?"

"Focus," Dean reminded seriously, making John blink. "The Roadhouse. It's a bar."

"You want to go to a bar?"

"Yeah. I mean. Not right now, but Dad, just. Listen. Listen," Dean said again, capturing John's full attention at his four year old son's sober tone. "I just want to meet some people there. I saw them at the park," he added, belatedly. "They were real nice. I doubt they remember me, but. I just want to meet them."

"Tell them you had a dream about them," Sam said. "Tell them about Ellen and Jo. No, just Ellen. And the explosion. Don't tell them any names, act as if it was just a nightmare."

"I had a dream about them," Dean told John and Mary. "I dreamed that Ell-the lady died. And her husband. I just want to make sure they're okay."

"Dean, you could be a professional actor," Sam murmured.

Little did they know that, no, Dean. You couldn't.

* * *

In the end, they agreed to go the day after. Apparently, they couldn't resist Dean's big, green, teary eyes of doom.

Of course, the next bit also helped.

* * *

"I don't know, Dean," Mary said, but he could see that she was wavering.

"I won't ask for anything else."

"Well . . ."

"Please," he said simply.

"It's a bar . . ." she trailed off.

"We'll be perfectly safe," Dean assured her. "You'll be there and other people will be there. Besides, Sammy wants to go, too. Don't you, Sammy?"

Sam tried his best to smile innocently. It worked like a dream.

"See?"

"I'm not sure," John began, then stopped as both Sam and Dean both turned sad, stricken looks on him. "I . . . Uhh-"

"It was a terrible dream, Dad," Dean said pointedly. "Terrible. There was an explosion and me and Sam were there and we had to watch it. There was fire and stuff. We couldn't do anything for the poor lady inside. With the explosion. You know, the one she protected us from. All we could do was watch. As the building exploded. With her inside. It was so sad. I almost cried. In fact, I feel a few tears coming on right now. Dad. I almost cried." He turned to his mother, looking up at her imploringly. "Mom. Please?"

Mary completely fell for it. "Oh, let's just take them, John. It won't hurt any. Look at Dean, he really wants this. Look at him. Oh, honey, You don't have to worry about anything," she assured her son. "We'll go. Of course we will. We'll go even if it takes days of cheap motel rooms and greasy takeout food and bags of money. Right, John?"

He kept silent.

"John. Right? John._ JOHN."_

Dean's big, teary eyes, Sam's young, hopeful face, and Mary's threatening tone?

He didn't stand a chance.

(Besides, Mary's _scary_ when her little boys don't get something they really want.)


	2. Chapter 2: An Ocean of Debris

**So I've kept you waiting longer than I should have, and for that, I apologize. But here's the second chapter, all yours.**

**It has come to my attention that the way I ended the first chapter, people think something happened to John. Something other than Mary, I mean. I assure you, John is quite well. Well, except for the daggers glared at him by Mary when he didn't immediately agree to take Sam and Dean to a bar. **

**Not that I blame him.**

**Also, I told a certain someone (I see you there, Samsquatch67) that there was to be a longer part with the Roadhouse. I meant to write it, I swear I did, but this chapter was already long enough and I wouldn't otherwise know what to do with the third chapter so I decided to wait.**

**I know, I know. I'm appalling. Despicable. A disgrace to Supernatural fanatics everywhere. I deserve every lash of my sister's imaginary whip, which I'm sure you're fantasizing about in great detail at this very moment.**

**I give you full permission to tie me up and drag me over burning coals whilst my sister stands to the side and calls encouragement to you.**

**(And tell me if I make any mistakes in this chapter, awright? I'll fix it right up.)**

**Anyway, I think that's about it. Fanks for your help, and read on.**

* * *

_Alistair slid his finger to the tip of the knife. "I'm disappointed in you, Dean. I've only just started and you're already screaming. I thought you'd last longer than this."_

_"And I thought you'd be more impressive," Dean snarled. "Your endless talking hurts me more than those rusted knives."_

_The demon tilted his head. "But I left off sharpening them just for you, Dean. And this is the thanks I get?" He tsked. "You wound me."_

_Then he stabbed the knife down into Dean's leg._

_A groan escaped him, but he didn't scream again._

_"What would Sammy say if he knew how weak you are?" Alistair asked._

_"Don't call him that," Dean gasped out. _

_"How disenchanted he'd be with you," the demon said, paying no attention to Dean's words. "He already thinks his big brother's a failure. I wonder, what would he think of you now?"_

_Dean didn't say that it didn't matter what Sam thought of him. (It did but he'd never let anyone know, not Hell, not a Heaven he didn't believe in.)_

_But had he said it, he wouldn't have lied, not completely._

_It really wasn't important in this instance what Sam thought of him, because Sam was safe and home no matter what voices cried out or demons appeared before him in the guise of his little brother. Family was meant to be protected and Dean was doing just that._

_He didn't even think of the fact that Sam thought the same in regards to him. Even if he had, it wouldn't have made any difference. His brother was everything to him, and you guarded your everything with all that you had._

_He'd done it. He'd done exactly that. And he didn't regret it._

_Alistair crushed the bones in his hand, and for one second, he was unbearably relieved it was his bones being broken and not Sam's._

_"Don't hold it in, Dean," Alistair murmured. "Those sounds you make are like music to me."_

_Dean cursed at him, and didn't make another sound for the demon._

_Not when his bones were broken time and time again, not when they went from knives to nails to salt and lemon juice. Not when they called out to him in Sam's voice or appeared in front of him as his father. Not when they poured burning poison down his throat or extracted his eyes and pulled out his heart. _

_They never took his tongue._

_They never took it._

_"This could all stop," Alistair said over and over again as he took a dagger and casually slid it into his sternum. "All the pain, the humiliation. You could make it all go away."_

_He'd die first._

_Again, and again, and again . . . and again._

_They cut his ears off, and he still knew what they were saying._

_"This could all go away."_

_But it never did._

_He kept silent as his lungs burned from keeping the sounds from escaping and his heart raced with dulled fear and sharp pain and agonizing adrenaline._

_Alistair paused, and almost smiled. "That's alright, then. I'll make you beg for it by the end of this. And, Dean . . . I will enjoy" Rusted nails in his bones "every" Fire in his throat "second of it."_

_And he did._

_(But Dean still didn't scream until they started on him again the next day.)_

* * *

"Dean, Dean. Wake. Up."

He awoke with a start, jolting upright and then blinking when he heard a thump. He looked down to see Sammy, who had fallen when Dean suddenly sat up. "You okay there, Sammy?"

Sam looked up at him, eyes still as big and hazel and puppyish as ever. "Yeah, Dean, I'm fine."

Dean rubbed a hand down his face. "Why'd you wake me up? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Dean," Sammy assured him. "I just came in because . . . ah . . ."

"What?"

"Because I thought you were having a nightmare," he mumbled.

Dean stared at him, surprised. "How'd you know?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think to deny it.

"You were too still," Sam explained. "Too quiet. Not like you usually are, it's just . . . I thought something was wrong. And apparently, I was right," he added.

Dean dropped his eyes. "It was just a nightmare, Sammy. Couldn't really hurt me."

"Dean."

He lifted his head at Sam's serious tone.

"This is me you're talking to, Dean. I know exactly how much nightmares can hurt."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said quietly. Then he smiled. "Especially the ones where you go to school naked. Bet you had tons of those."

"Jerk."

"Bi-"

"Dean?"

Dean ducked his head guiltily as his mother came in. He'd have to watch his mouth if he didn't want her and his father to notice anything different about him. Plus, he really didn't think they'd take kindly to him swearing at a kid five months old for no apparent reason.

"Have you seen Samm-oh, there he is." Mary smiled and bent down to pull Sammy into her arms. "What are you doing here? Visiting your big brother?"

"Yeah, Mom," Sam answered. "But he'll only be big for so long before I outgrow him."

Dean frowned. "I forgot about that."

"What?" Mary asked curiously as she cradled Sam to her.

"Nothing," Dean muttered. "Just the complete destruction of my life as I know it and everything I hold dear."

"Shallow, Dean," Sam replied. "Very shallow."

"You know me, Sam," Dean said flippantly. "I'm as shallow as they come."

Mary glanced down at Sam. "He called you shallow? Why?"

"Because I really don't want him to grow taller than me."

"You think he will?"

"If I now him," he said, "and I do, he'll grow even taller just to spite me."

Mary laughed and pulled Dean to her shoulder. "I'll look forward to seeing that."

Dean paused. "Yeah," he finally said. "You will."

"We'll make sure of it," Sam murmured, echoing Dean's thoughts perfectly.

"Since you're up, what do you want for breakfast?" Mary asked.

Dean shrugged. "Cereal's fine."

She frowned. "Are you alright, Dean? You seem a bit subdued." She paused, a worried expression coming over her face. "So does Sammy, now that I think of it."

"We're fine," Dean said firmly. "There's nothing wrong with Sam and me, so don't worry about it. I promise we . . . I'd tell you if there was, Mom."

"And there's that, too," she declared. "Why 'Mom'? What happened to 'Mommy'? You're sure you're fine, Dean?"

He smiled slightly, an expression Mary had never seen on her little boy's face. "I'm fine. Sam's fine. We're all fine, Mom."

Sam patted Mary's shoulder. "Listen to Dean, Mom. He doesn't lie." Then he paused. "Well, except to the authorities, and woman, and sometimes me, and . . . Wow. Dean, you lie a lot."

"So do you," he pointed out.

The words 'Demon blood' lay in the air between them.

Mary looked at him blankly. Then she said, "Why do I feel like Sammy just tried to reassure me? And why are you looking at him like you're accusing him of something?"

"I'm not," Dean was quick to deny. "Really."

She shook her head. "I'm probably just being silly." She paused. "Of course I am." But her eyes were averted from him and she looked like she was talking to Sammy. Then she lifted her head and smiled, as if the last few seconds had never happened. "Why don't we get some food in you? Then we can go to the park."

Dean nodded easily, attempting to look as trustworthy as possible. "Sure."

Sammy shot him an accusing look. "Nice, Dean. She suspects something now."

"It's not my fault," Dean argued. "I'm trying."

"Try harder," the evil baby hissed as Mary glanced from Dean to Sam. Then he added, "Jerk."

"Bi-Uhhh . . ."

Mary blinked at him as she tried to fade into the background. "What? Go on. Just pretend I'm not here."

Awkward.

* * *

Dean had taken to carrying Sam everywhere. The only time he let Mary or John carry Sam was if they asked, and they rarely did that, mostly because Dean seemed so unwilling to let his brother go.

Frankly, they thought it was adorable.

They weren't the only ones.

A woman came to stand beside John and Mary as they watched Sam and Dean in the park. She glanced at them and gestured to their boys. "Are they yours?"

Mary smiled brightly, as she always did. "They are."

"They're adorable," the woman said wistfully.

"I know," Mary sighed, "aren't they? Dean just suddenly decided to carry Sammy with him, like he's been doing it for years."

The woman smiled. "I've got four."

Mary's eyes widened. "Four boys?"

"And two girls."

Mary laughed slightly. "I can only imagine what an adventure that is."

"Yes," the woman said dryly. "You _can_ only imagine."

"Does your husband help you?"

She smiled lovingly. "He does everything he can for me. Grayson always has, you know," she confided. "This has just made him even more attentive." Her smile turned wry. "Of course, he was already amazingly attentive before. I thought, 'You can't get more attentive than this.'" She laughed. "I was very, very wrong, and he proved it. A hundred times over."

Mary laughed with her in genuine delight. She _liked_ this woman.

"Of course, he's teaching our sons to do the same thing," she added. "It's always 'Are you very comfortable, Mom? Do you need a pillow?' and 'Don't get up, I'll bring you your coffee'. Frankly, I'm kind of terrified one of my friends will steal them away and I'll never get served coffee in bed ever again."

Mary smiled, then seemed to realize something, and immediately stuck out her hand. "Oh, I'm Mary Winchester, and this is my husband, John."

The woman took her hand and shook it. "Annabelle Sweet."

"That's a nice name," Mary commented.

"I forced Grayson to let me keep my maiden name," Annabelle confessed. "And I've always liked the name Mary. My daughter tells me there's a Mary where she lives, but she's a bit, well . . . she apparently likes to torment the neighbors, along with her best friend, Alice. Mellie says she stays clear of those two whenever she can. Evidently, though, she hasn't even considered leaving."

"Why not?" Mary asked curiously.

Annabelle smiled. "The coffee is very, very good there, and the men are amazingly attractive."

"How old is your daughter?"

"She's twenty-four, and fiercely independent. She keeps telling me to make her brothers stop bringing her things."

Mary looked amused. "Does she?"

"She does. I can't blame her. Vin and Ray are particularly considerate." A laugh escaped her. "Oh, you should see how they are, even with my youngest son. Especially with my youngest son. Sawyer doesn't ever complain, though. He indulges their . . ." Her lips twitched, ". . . Sweet ways. They got most of it from me, you know. If I hadn't come across Grayson, he'd still be single and growly and the big man in slightly illegal activities."

Mary blinked. "Ah . . . ?"

"Oh, yeah. Now he only engages in almost harmless, slightly illegal activities. You should see the big man in _completely_ illegal activities," she said fondly. "I've always thought Wel was just a big teddy bear. He never turns me away, you know. He's so sweet, I just want to ruffle his hair and hug him and bring him home."

Mary thought the image odd, but was charmed despite herself. "What about your other son? You said you had four."

A sad look crossed Annabelle's face. "He's lost to us now."

"Oh, no," Mary murmured, dismayed. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Annabelle confessed, her expression pained. "That's just the thing. I don't know. Someone took him. And then we were told that all signs show to him being . . . dea . . ."

Mary laid her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I only imagine how that felt."

Annabelle composed herself. "Yes. But the worst thing, I think, is that I still hope. They were just signs. There was no . . . there was no body. It's possible . . . right?" she faltered.

"It is," Mary assured her. "It's possible. There's always time for a miracle."

Annabelle smiled at her. It barely even trembled. "Mary, I hope the world knows what it has in you."

Mary smiled back. "You, as well."

"Oh, it does, if Vin, Ray and Grayson are any indication."

She sighed. "I hope Dean and Sammy grow up as well as yours have."

Annabelle paused, and said, "Mary, if you are just this way for all your long years, they won't have any other choice."

"Anna."

Her face lit up at the deep voice, and she spun around to wave at a big man standing near the entrance to the park. She turned back to Mary. "That's my Grayson. He'll be wanting me." She quickly dug through her purse and pulled out a card, handing it to Mary. "If you ever need anything, call me. Okay? We'll be right there for you. Always." She gave Mary a pinkie wave. "Don't hesitate to make the call!" She turned and ran over to her husband. He caught her before she could crash into him and watched patiently as she talked rapidly and excitedly, gesturing to Mary and John.

It reminded Mary of a very, very friendly golden retriever. She could almost see Annabelle's tail wagging and her doggie ears twitching.

It was an adorable image, and she turned to tell it to John, who'd been standing right beside her, listening to the two woman talk. She saw Annabelle wave goodbye, and heard her say to her husband, almost too faintly, "Don't you just love this time?"

Mary watched her go curiously.

Now whatever could she mean by that?

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean had been having a very different conversation.

* * *

"Dean, this is getting embarrassing."

"What?"

"You, carrying me around all the time."

"We'll, it's not like you can walk yet."

"Yeah, but Dean-"

"Sammy-"

"No, listen. Why do you carry me around, anyway? I mean, I know you're the only one who can understand me, but you do it even when we don't have to talk about anything."

Dean got that stubborn look on his face. Sam recognized it immediately. "I'm not allowed to carry my five-month old little brother?"

"Dean, this isn't just once. You've been doing it so often that I've gotten used to it in less than a day."

"Hey, don't judge it. I'm just . . . making sure you're safe."

"Safe? From what? Mom and Dad? The ground?"

"No, but I have to do it, Sammy."

"Why?"

"It's like an itch that doesn't go away."

"Until you pick me up."

"Well, yeah."

"Dean, you hold me like I'm something . . . I don't know, precious or whatever."

Dean grimaced. "Ugh. Don't put it like that. It makes me want to pull my ears off."

Sam sighed. "What about Cas?"

Dean paused. "I dunno, Sammy. Think he'd remember us?"

His brother shook his head. "I doubt it, but he could still help."

"How?"

"We'll figure it out," Sam assured him, and was just about to say something else when a young voice said, "Hey. Baby."

Dean turned, and was not surprised to see a kid only a few years older than he. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "What?"

"You baby-sit all the time?" the kid asked smugly, as if he'd just gotten one over on him. He was young, but still bigger than Dean.

But Dean had gone through far too much to ever be intimidated by an immature little kid who probably just did such things to get attention.

Sam leaned closer to say, out of the corner of his mouth, "Neglected. A bully to get what he doesn't have. You know the kind."

"Sometimes I really wish I didn't."

The kid took a step closer. "Hey, listen to me, you baby."

Oh God, this was embarrassing. Couldn't he at least think of better, more dignified insults? It would make the experience a lot more pleasant.

"This is so awkward it's not even funny," Sam muttered beneath his breath.

"Look," Dean finally said, "just . . . stop. You're humiliating yourself." Then he had to pause when a look of confusion crossed the kid's face. He obviously didn't understand what a big word like 'humiliating' meant.

He looked angry now. "Too busy baby-sitting a monster brat?"

Dean felt his expression smooth over as the words made his decision for him.

Sam glanced at his brother. "Don't kill him. It would be messy and you'd get arrested and sentenced to years of prison, and then how would we get back?"

"Not going to kill him, Sammy," Dean murmured as he set Sam down on the bottom of the slide and walked over to the kid.

He was too young to be apprehensive and too old to know when to back off.

Dean looked at him, eyes shockingly dispassionate compared to what they were before. "You've never seen dealt with an older brother, have you?"

Kid sneered. Sam lowered his head to his hands, mumbling, "I can't watch."

"First of all," Dean continued evenly, "you don't mess with a younger brother. Second of all, _you don't mess with a younger brother_."

It seemed to dawn on the kid that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Dean watched it happen. "Now you're going to apologize to Sammy, leave, and never approach another kid who's younger than you ever again."

"Sorry," the kid stumbled over, looking slightly terrified and more than a bit wondering.

Dean shook his head. "Not to me. To Sammy."

Two minutes later, the kid had run out of the park like his life depended on it. Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Hell, maybe it did depend on it.

Mary and John seemed to have noticed something was wrong, and came over. Mary glanced after the kid. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," Dean said dismissively. "Just a kid trying to pick a fight. Ran away fast enough and I hadn't even done anything to him yet," he muttered beneath his breath. "All I wanted was five minutes of his time."

"His time," Sam snorted. "Right. Not his face. So that you could introduce it to your fist."

"That, too," Dean conceded.

Mary frowned. "He was picking on Sammy?"

"Trying to," Dean returned. "Couldn't think of any imaginative insults, so it kinda fell flat."

"Dean," Sam hissed. "Remember you look only four years old right now. Tone down the big brother retribution, will you? You'll alienate them if you keep on like this."

Too late.

John and Mary exchanged bewildered glances. Dean was suddenly acting very much not his age, and protectiveness practically vibrated in the air when he looked at Sammy.

Dean realized this, and immediately dropped the years of looking out for Sam to appear as if his mind was the same age as his body.

Sam almost wished he could whistle.

The change in his brother's body language was immediate. He seemed smaller, younger. Less changed by circumstance and Dad's death. Sam's death.

Hell.

"It's nothing," Dean said softly, sounding like the child Sam knew he really wasn't. "It's just, he was being mean to Sammy." He looked up at John and Mary with large, gentle green eyes. "I didn't like it."

They completely melted in the face of Mini Winchester eyes.

Dean felt a flash of satisfaction.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who uses the look," Sam said, amused.

"Learned from the best," he murmured.

Sam smiled crookedly. "Yeah, Dean. So did I."

* * *

Before Dean had even opened his eyes, he knew Sam was having a nightmare.

They'd gotten in the Impala (thank God Dad took his advice that time before) and he'd just closed his eyes for a moment. Guess he'd drifted off to sleep.

But now his well-used Sammy's-in-trouble senses were screaming at him, and he was reaching for Sammy before he'd ever moved to open his eyes, murmuring to him, "Hey, Sammy, it's okay. I'm here, you know. Sam, I'm here."

It wasn't that Sam had made any distinctive movement or sound. His breathing was faster, his expression wasn't as peaceful as usual, and that, coupled with brotherly instinct, woke Dean faster than if Sam had kicked him in the shin.

He wouldn't have needed the uneven breathing and facial expressions, though. Brotherly instinct was more than enough for him. He knew Sammy, he knew his brother better than anyone else. As his brother knew him.

It was as much a part of life as it was a part of them.

At his touch, Sam awoke and looked at him with loss and confusion, and just like that, Dean knew what Sam had been dreaming of.

He pulled Sam closer. "Hey, no, I'm right here. I'm right here, Sam."

Sam's expression cleared up as he looked at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, live and in person."

"I-I thought . . ."

"I was still down there, I know," he said soothingly. "But I'm not. Just wanted you to know that, you can go back to sleep if you want."

"Where're we?" Sam mumbled sleepily.

"On the way to the Roadhouse."

Just like that, his brother was wide awake.

"What time is it? How far along are we?"

"It's ten to five. We'll be there soon. "

Sam sighed. "What will we say? 'Sorry, you don't know us, we're from the future and we'd really like it if you didn't die this time'?"

"That seems a bit insensitive, doesn't it?" Dean observed. "I thought you were the lawyer."

Sam just shook his head and sat back to wait.

They were there in less than five minutes.

They parked, and Dean opened his door, then went around to get Sam. They walked through a familiar door to see familiar walls and breathe in a familiar smell and hear familiar sounds.

Sam sighed. "Worth it."

Dean smiled. "Definitely worth it."

* * *

**Also, I'll be putting funnies that I thought of for any of my 'fics at the bottom of the chapters.**

**Here ya go:**

* * *

_Alistair slid his finger to the tip of the knife. "I'm disappointed in you, Dean. I've only just started and you're already screaming. I thought you'd last longer than this."_

_"And I thought you'd be more impressive," Dean snarled. "Your endless talking hurts me more than those rusted knives."_

_The demon tilted his head. "But I left off sharpening them just for you, Dean. And this is the thanks I get?" He tsked. "You wound me."_

_"Not as much as you wound me," Dean suggested._

_Alistair guffawed, slapping his knee. "Oh, Dean, you slay me!"_

_"Not as much as you slay me."_

_Alistair went off into gales of laughter._

_Later, they became professional comedians together, mostly through means of blackmail, threats, and intimidation._

_No one ever came to their shows, though. _

_No one._

**Oh God. Why did I write this?**


End file.
